


The 'Gallows Night' Angel

by Ambrosia29



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Discussion of Contraception, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Gratuitous Words, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Medic Beth, One Night Stands, Pro-birth issues, Pro-choice Issues, Science Fiction, Smut, Soldier Daryl, Space Stations, Tearjerker, War, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8101852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia29/pseuds/Ambrosia29
Summary: Daryl might have one last night left to live before going to battle on Mars. When he asks to spend it with Beth on the Space Station, her compassion compels her to say "yes."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found myself in the mood for more smut, so in the middle of writing 'Spaghetti Night' as a belated addition to Bethyl Smut Week I remembered Babylon 5 and this happened.
> 
> Enjoy...

“The ‘Gallows Night’ Angel”

 

“I might die tomorrow.”

She turned. Behind her was a soldier, fatigues worn and patched in places, dark hair tied back and scruff of stubble on his chin. His arms, what she could see of them, were strong and scarred.

This soldier, Staff-Sergeant Dixon “of Gen-X Inc. Infantry, 15th Company, Platoon D” had helped Captain Grimes drag Private Dixon into the infirmary with a laser-burned stab-wound he earned for trying to make out with a security personnel’s wayward wife.

He cuffed his elder brother on the back of his head, earning a reproachful look from her before she treated the burn and informed them both he’d have to stay for a few hours while the salve worked its Nano-tech magic and healed him up enough to go back to attempted debauchery.

Merle wasn’t the only one there: several of his companions were gathered all over the station, boisterous and rowdy since their arrival. Several of them had gotten into fights and been brought into the clinic over the stupidest things; fights between each other over potential sexual partners, fights with civilians over their husbands, wives and ‘friends, disputes over the price of ammunition and mostly liquor.

They all seemed to come around to get patched up, one way or another.

The younger Dixon had joked that perhaps they were trying to get in to see _her_.

She’d been warned by her sister, Maggie that it would happen like that: they were there to rest before the launch tomorrow morning and tensions were high, as was the desperate air about them. It was as though they were determined to live as much as possible before being drop-shipped onto a planet at war.

‘ _Mars Rebels’_ read the headlines.

Many single women were taking advantage: her best friend, Rosita, had given her a wry look before disappearing on the arm of a red-headed soldier nearly half-again her size.

Sergeant Dixon – _Daryl_ , she reminded herself – had spent the remaining afternoon with her, helping where he could around the clinic, asking to join her for dinner and then paying before she could cover her bill.

“Ain’t like I’ve got to save for anything,” he’d said as she protested.

He walked her home and kissed her breathless. She invited him inside. “For a drink,” she’d said.

It had been nice, spending time with someone, knowing they weren’t looking for attachment. It was something she’d avoided over the years, though she felt she’d want to explore with him, given enough time. It was why she’d balked when he’d gently asked if he could make love to her. She’d pressed for time to get to know him. Time, she knew, they didn’t have.

“Last thing I want is complications,” he hissed in her ear, pain lacing through his voice, making it tremble. “I ain’t got a life for anythin’ more. I don’t want to leave a girl behind. Leave you heartbroken when I don’ come back.” ‘Back’ was a bitten word, hard and sharp and bitter on his tongue.

“But if y’ ain’t on board with a ‘Gallows Night’ with me, that’s fine,” his voice was softer, softening into whiskey-whipped cream if cream could regret, “just thought if I’m gonna have a last night to remember, I’d want to remember an angel like you.”

His words, the tone and his eyes melted the wall she kept up like a gentle sea lapping against sand. She looked at him for a moment; compassion flooding through her like a welling tide and she knew – knew in her bleeding heart – that she was in danger.

In the sweetest of ways.

She allowed it to show in her eyes, reached for him when his own turned away, shadowed by the fall of his hair in his eyes. As he turned to leave she took a step closer, her fingertips brushed his arm and he paused, those blue eyes darting to hers.

Bitter anger. Shock. Vulnerability. Hope.

These things and more showed in his face before those eyes darkened like a storm moving over the sea. She knew, had seen that look in a man’s eyes when they thought of bedroom sins.

Her fingers lingered on his arm, brushing lightly. Her throat was suddenly dry, breath held in her chest as she watched him. Waited.

His eyes glanced down at her fingers on his arm, gooseflesh rising beneath them and back up at her eyes. The look in them was feral, wild and tender. Like a leopard who wanted to pace, run, hunt but found himself leashed. Asking without asking.

_Do you want me?_

She swallowed, eyebrows drawing together and she held her bottom lip between her teeth.

_Yes._

_Please._

His fingers came up and tangled in her hair, his body crowding hers, guiding her to the wall and she moved willingly, lest she be moved. And she was. He fell upon her like a wave breaking, flowed around her with arms and hands, into her with lips and tongue and the salt to her sweet.

His tongue delved deep, drew hers out as she fought to answer his furor, his passion. He explored her with care, hands first holding her tight, then stroking, exploring, caressing. Each touch made her breath come harder, heart pound faster and she trembled with the desire he stoked within. When his tongue curled against the roof of her mouth while fingertips stroked down her throat to her breastbone it felt like a warm pleasurable light was centered in her there, drawn out and up by his touch. She could have wept of it, for it, with it.

Instead she cried out, the sound reverberating into his mouth as he ate at the sound. He fell to his knees abruptly, encircling her with his arms, hands griping her hips. She looked down at him, breathless, loose and heady with the feel of him beneath her lips and surrounding her.

He worshipped her. His mouth loosed a quiet moan like a prayer as he dug his fingers into the edges of her pants and pulled downward, taking her undergarment with it and baring her skin. His eyes still upon hers he leaned forward, inhaling her scent like incense and she watched, fascinated, amazed, as his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

Those fierce blues zeroed in on her flesh, fixed on the delicate curls between her thighs and he lunged.

His hands stayed upon her hips, pressing her ass into the wall behind her as he nudged her legs further apart with his face and shoulders. Mouth closing quickly on her mound, exploring her as he had her mouth, he groaned deep in his throat and she answered with a mewl of her own.

Lips found her clit and his tongue began fluttering rapidly, fingers tracing the outer edges of her slick cunt. Her hands rested in his hair, curled around those dark strands and compulsively twisted when he slid his fingers inside her.

He worked quickly, taking no quarter as he slid deep, setting a rhythm that made her gasp and letting up only to curl those fingers into her inner walls and beckon until she was coming, flying apart for him with a sob.

His teeth scraped against her clit and swollen lips hungrily, a snarl muffled by her flesh that made her shudder harder beneath him and wonder with some distant part of her mind if this was when she was supposed to go mad?

She held on for dear life as he continued his onslaught. Incoherently, she tried to speak – his name, words, something, anything – to give warning –

Legs giving out, his arms and hands caught her thighs, slowly lowered her to the floor. The movement was guided easily by him and he leaned back, fingers still pressed inside and settled her hips above his own. She followed through with the collapse by leaning into him, lying against his chest and nuzzling his neck with her nose.

His breath caught in his throat at the contact and he tipped his head back, gave her full access to himself, whatever she wanted. And oh, she wanted. She took as he had, with lips and tongue against his throat and teeth in her excitement. One hand tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her neck while the other spanned her back and he seemed intent to focus on breathing as she tasted him.

His body curled up into hers, hips slowly grinding between her thighs and she reared back to let loose another whimper of pleasure. Hips rotating slightly, she ground back into him, the press of his hard cock terribly intimate through the material of his fatigues. She’d no doubt what condition she was leaving them in and couldn’t find it in herself to care.

A hand reached between them, stroked her soaked cunt and slipped inside again. She shuddered, moaning helplessly above him, acing inside, wanting. Her hands slid down and brushed against his while she fought the fly of his pants, looking into his eyes as her fingers hovered there above him.

He pulled her back down to his mouth, gentler with her despite the fist in her hair and mumbled between wet drugging kisses, “I ain’t nothin’ you can catch from me, girl. ‘Cept maybe a little me.” He pulled back, groaning, “Christ, Beth,” when she slid her hand inside his pants and drew out the hard length of his cock, “you got no idea how that feels.” The words came from between his teeth and he nearly lost it when she let him go for a moment – watched her gathering the slick wet from her body – before spreading it in smooth strokes along his length.

“Oh, I got an idea,” she drawled with a lazy grin before suddenly sobering. “I want you to take all of me,” she whispered, tenderness in her eyes. “All of me Daryl. Everything.”

“Don’ wanna leave you behind with a kid, darlin.’ Ain’t no guarantee I’ll be back.”

“I’ll get a pill from the clinic. You don’t have to worry about leaving more than me behind.” The words hurt somehow, having been said, but she meant them. How he lived, how careful he’d been in whatever abandon he’d allowed. He was a good man in spite of himself and it struck a spark in her, an answering chord. She had to honor it.

And it was only the responsible thing to do. But she’d share his night of abandon and walk in the new day without regret come morning.

Inasmuch as she could, making love to a man who might not live to see the following sunset.

_God, was she crazy?_

He slid his fingers through her hair again, sitting up to claim her lips again.

_Yes._

Even in his arms, sitting on his lap, he was half a head taller than her, lifted and held still above him for a moment while he looked into her eyes. He stroked a hand down her curls again, cupping the back of her neck, brushing a thumb beneath her ear until she shivered with desire.

Giving her a tender look, a question in his face, he paused.

_Do you want me? Could you accept me? That this might be it? This single night to burn together?_

This strong man, this stranger, this warrior, soldier, was giving her a glimpse inside himself she wondered if anyone else had seen. That vulnerability was in his eyes, the tremble of his hand. The need. She rested her hand on his arm, brushing his skin and savoring the firm muscle of him. Leaned her head into his touch.

With her other hand, she took hold of his opposite wrist and lifted it beneath her shirt and slid his palm upward to rest over her breast. As he sighed and pressed his palm into her soft flesh she lifted her rucked up shirt off over her head and let him see her.

She knew she wasn’t nearly as well-endowed as most women but the awe in his face chased away the lingering uncertainty and filled her instead with an ache she couldn’t quite define.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered to her. His palm began stroking gently, his breath catching as her nipple tightened at his attentions. Eyes kind but filled with a pleasurable darkness, he pressed her backward, an arm wrapping around her waist to catch her as she bent backward. Thus exposed to him, he leaned down and captured her breasts in his mouth, drawing her in. He suckled at her, brushed her sensitive flesh with his shadowed jaw and nuzzled her skin with his nose and cheeks.

Turning to her breastbone, he placed an open-mouthed kiss above her heart, her heart pounding out of her ribcage and that odd aching, glowing sensation filling her from heart to belly and sending heat down like the slow trickle of molasses to her cunt. Warm wet welled within her and she knew it would be moments before it began trickling from her body onto his.

He moaned into her chest, the vibration reverberating through her ribcage and making her loosen, relaxing in his arms. She drew in a sharp breath and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck. It occurred to her suddenly that though his pants were undone, he was still fully clothed.

Didn’t seem to matter much when he slid his fingers down her stomach again and cupped her, groaning into her neck at how wet she was, slick and ready against his palm. “I need – ah, _girl_ ,” he moaned against her as he slid a finger inside her.

“Tell me what you need, Daryl, it’s yours,” she whispered into his ear.

“I need you, Beth. I just need _you_.”

“Then I’m yours.” The words, once spoken, were preposterous for a one-night-stand but in the silence and privacy of her apartment, the dark night of desperate fumbling, of the need to feel alive and wanted, even loved in some sort of way, neither questioned it. She felt a deep compassion for him, affection as new as a downy bird and just as fragile. She tried to show him with her eyes, her words and her body beneath his own.

For a man facing death in a matter of hours, it surpassed everything he’d hoped for.

Without preamble, he pulled back to look into her eyes as his hand shifted. She felt him brush her thighs as he took hold of himself, saw his eyes flicker in pleasure and she moved, gently brushed his hand aside and encircled him.

Her breath caught at the heat of him, the shape and oh, how soft his skin was. He was hard, so hard it surely must have hurt him and his eyes clenched shut for a moment when she first brushed over his cock. Pre-come seeped from the broad head of him and she flicked her eyes down to glimpse him, licking her lips at the thought of how he might taste.

He groaned again and she looked up, saw the stark need bare in his eyes and she couldn’t bear it any longer: she brushed the broad head of him against her slick cunt and slowly sank down onto him.

Her back arched and he held her closer. She cried out to feel him stretching her so and he held her with his eyes, sweet assuring strokes of his tongue along hers. His hand stroked her cheeks beseeching her pleasure with encouraging words.

His hands stroked down her neck and shoulders, crept down her spine as she pressed herself into him, savoring the feel of his hard muscles and coarse hair sliding against her breasts, her belly. She was wet, _slick_ but as he slid inside she was still so tight and he felt enormous. His breath caught and held, face contorting in lines of what might be pain as he cupped her lower back in his broad hand, fingers splayed just above the crack of her ass and, eyes measuring her face, pressed her further still downward.

Mouth fallen open and head tossed back, she felt overwhelmed. He filled her, stretched her to a point she’d never felt with another lover, her body clenching around him. Distantly, she was relieved they’d forgone a condom, certain she couldn’t have taken him sheathed in such thin material that could drag along skin. He felt so _good_. His mouth brushed her throat, a tangled sensation of lips tongue and softly scratching facial hair. She threaded fingers through his long dark locks, held on for dear life and began slowly rocking her hips in a gentle wave.

“Oh, girl,” he gasped, nearly growled, “You _don’t know_ how good you feel.” His hands tightened slowly and he fluttered his tongue against her throat. He thrust slowly and she mewled softly, flinching for a moment when he bottomed out. He froze for a moment, lifting her slightly but she shook her head, kissing him like she was feeding at his lips.

“Don’t stop, Daryl,” she whispered into them.

He gripped her tighter still, rolled her onto her back, still inside as he followed her descent. His eyes were hot, hungry and somehow hard and tender all at once. He rolled his hips into her and flashed a wolfish half-grin when her eyes rolled back for a moment.

“I ain’t gonna stop ‘til you say so, girl.” He drew himself back, nearly pulling out when he buried himself deep again. Her nails dug reflexively into his biceps and she jumped, releasing him almost instantly with an apology. He licked a path up her throat to her ear and muttered, “Y’aint gonna hurt me, girl,” he thrust again slowly, savoring every inch of her, “had worse.”

She held him close and clung for dear sanity as he gradually picked up speed, fucked her into mindlessness, alternately tender and rough but so, so careful with her. She caught his smile in the reflective paneling of her desk, in his whispered words of encouragement when she clawed at him, felt it against her throat, her heartbeat.

“Gimme all you got, girl, lemme hear that sweet angel voice a’ yours. Oh, don’t hold back – _oh_ – God _girl_ ,” and she gave him everything. She couldn’t say after, how many times she came, how long that first fuck had lasted. His passion had been endless, bottomless and finally tender as he filled her. He looked almost pained as at last in hot streams he released inside her. The pleasure that rocketed through her in rapid succession sent her over the edge yet again, a dragon chasing its tail.

He carried her into the bathroom and washed them both afterward, making her come with lips and tongue in languid strokes, washed them both clean before carrying her to bed.

It didn’t end there. Always, he’d sought her approval, her release as though he couldn’t get enough of it, of her. They made love long into the night, in every way she’d ever conceived of and in some ways that were new to her.

It was late, perhaps three or four hours until the scheduled sunrise and departure, when he dragged himself to her alarm clock, set it and collapsed into an exhausted heap beside her. She waited for a moment, wondering what he’d get up to wash again or pull away when she reached out and brushed her fingers along his tentatively.

His smile was bright in the dark and his fingers immediately threaded through hers. Rolling closer to her, he gathered her in his arms, curling his large frame around her and tucking her beneath his chin. She was content, inhaling the dark scent of sweat and musk in his chest hairs, the faintest scent of her soap. She nuzzled his chest, placing a kiss over the center and he groaned helplessly.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. She squeezed him in response, uncertain if she could even talk if she tried. So she showed him instead, with tender kisses and gently stroking hands.

His breathing slowly evened out and she shifted, nuzzling his nose with hers as she settled on the pillow beside him. She fell asleep to the sight of him in gentle repose, breathing a soft rhythmic puff of warmth on her face.

 

The alarm jarred her awake, tangled in blankets and oddly naked. She heard an audible ‘click’ and the night before flooded her face with heat when she turned to see her lover sitting at the edge of the bed. Her breath caught at the sight of him: broad shoulders, sleep-tousled hair and arms banded with thick cords of muscle as he levered himself up. But the scars were what had caught her attention. He had several and though she’d felt them in the dark, she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer amount marring his flesh.

There were bands crisscrossed along his low back and shoulders that looked old and burn marks which were newer that left streaks across his scapula and scattered pock-marked burns that could have been splashes of acid.

“Ain’t pretty,” he said resignedly, searching her floor for his clothes.

She sucked in a sharp breath and reached for him, placing a hand on his hip, fingers clawing into his hipbones to pull him closer. After a moment he sighed, allowed himself to be pulled in for an odd hug. She rested her cheek on the ridge of his hip, arms curled around his thighs and hands resting on his stomach. After another heartbeat, his hand moved to cover one of hers, squeezing gently.

“M’sorry,” he said ruefully, “it’s…” he sighed again and turned around, gently lifting her chin with a finger gently curved around it, “it’s been a long, long time since I’ve stayed the night. Last time –

“Didn’t end well,” she said wryly. He looked into her eyes for a moment, relaxing the longer he looked. Thumb brushed her cheek and she leaned into it, turning to place a soft kiss to the mound of his thumb on his palm.

“Ain’t any good at this,” he said apologetically. She shook her head, a pleased smile curving her lips.

“Don’t have to be.”

He looked down at her for what felt like ages, like he was drinking her in, memorizing her to paint to the backs of his eyelids. “You really are an angel, Bethany.”

“No,” she protested gently, “I’m just a woman, as you’re a man. With human needs and desires, same as you.”

“Oh, girl,” he whispered, so soft she could barely hear it, “I’d – _No_.” He turned away, guilt thick in his strong voice. “No promises,” he said as if to himself as much as her, “I can’t.” He turned back to her, thumb sliding gently over her scruff-abraded cheek as he cupped her face in his hand and looked into her eyes tenderly. “But I would if I could. For you.”

She laid her hand over his and gave him a small smile. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, shadow of regret in his eyes as he looked into her own. Their noses brushed and he painted her lips with a kiss, lingering, sighing his regret when he pulled away. Brushed a slow kiss to her forehead. Stroked her hair, running it through his fingertips.

“You’re a girl to come back for,” he whispered to her.

A metallic boom sounded when someone pounded on the outside of the door. “Daryl, get yer ass up an’ moving, we gotta get to the launch pad in ten!” Merle continued to pound on the door incessantly.

With a final kiss to her forehead he pulled away and dressed in record time, picked up his weapons and went to the door. He took one last look at her before opening it and slipping outside. Merle stuck his head in, looked around before zeroing in on her sheet-covered figure with a lecherous grin she couldn’t bring herself to fault him for and nodded as if with approval before the door closed.

She was alone.

He left nothing for her, only his scent on her pillow and languid aching warmth in her body which told her she’d been well used.

But she didn’t feel used by him. If he survived the drop, the battle, she would see him again. She knew it.

It was there in his eyes, an unspoken promise.

At the unsettling, comforting thought, she curled up in her bed, still warm with his heat and snuggled into the pillows, covering herself with the blanket. She closed her eyes, waiting for the distant sound of ship-engines and the subtle vibration as they left port. She didn’t sleep.

 

 

Hours and a thick knot in her stomach later, Beth sat in a café, Rosita sitting across from her with a knowing smile.

“So, you did it, hmm?”

She couldn’t help her response: she blushed red-hot and smiled down into her coffee, toes curling inside her boots. She looked up at Rosita’s grin.

“So,” she drawled, “he…was…good?”

“C’mon, Rozie, I’m not gonna kiss-and-tell.”

Her raven-haired friend broke out laughing until Beth reached out and playfully smacked her in the arm. “You’re telling enough as it is,” she said through her chuckles, “seriously, though, I’m glad you had a good time. Been long enough.”

Beth nodded in agreement, eyes at once hazy with both the night’s pleasure and distant with remembered pain.

“It’s been what,” Rosita said gently, “four years since Zach didn’t come back?”

“Five.”

“And what,” she murmured, “about Sergeant Dixon? Think he’ll be coming back?”

Beth’s smile widened and she caught her lip in her teeth for a moment, remembering down into her coffee cup. “It’s ‘Staff-Sergeant’ Dixon and…yeah. Yeah, I think he’ll be coming back.”

 

Still more hours later, Beth had finished her shift, uploaded her last patient’s zipdrive and retrieved the morning-after pill from the case in the wall, automatically deducting payment from her next paycheck. It was sitting on her bathroom sink next to a clear glass of water while she prepared a bath.

The steam was just beginning to comfortable fill the small room when her door-alarm rang.

Curious who it could be at this hour, she shrugged on her bathrobe and grabbed the glass as she passed, thinking to use it in case of an intruder. She crossed her small apartment quickly; surprised to see Rosita’s face when she pressed her hand to the plate next to the sliding door.

Her friend’s face was blank and stony, eyes puffy and red. Beth’s stomach dropped into the floor as she opened the door. Rosita immediately threw herself into Beth’s arms, reflexively returning the hug. “Rozie, what…?”

Rosita drew back slowly, searched her face. “You didn’t hear?”

Beth’s brows drew together as she shook her head, refusing the words she knew would come next. She heard, as though from under deep water. “It’s been all over the Feed, came on about U-7-P and been running constant since…” As she spoke, she picked up the controller and pointed it at the large blank wall on Beth’s right.

A light flicked on, rectangular in shape and white until it blinked into the news Feed with a scroll along the bottom edge, a strip of blue with white lettering. _4 th Company; 5th Company; 7th Company; 10th Company: Platoons A, B, D; 11th Company… _

“The destruction is cataclysmic,” said a sober female whose image hovered over the scroll, accompanied to the side of images of blasted rock and smoke-choked cityscape, “and the numbers of the accounted and unaccounted dead keep rising by the hour, with casualties in great numbers reported on both sides. Gen-X Incorporated is joining Earth-Corp in an unprecedented merger of team-effort to find the methods used by the Martian Insurgents to trigger such a catastrophic calamity…”

The reporter continued as images flashed by, one after another of terrible fires, cities brought down to rubble and the wreckage of Ironcrawlers blasted into pieces amidst large craters, but Beth didn’t hear what she said.

_I ain’t gonna stop ‘til you say so, girl._

She reached out her hand for Rosita’s, gripping it tight. Looking down at her foot, she wondered why her feet were cold. Wet. Blinking in distant surprise, she realized she’d dropped her glass of water to grab her friend’s hand and it had shattered. Rozie’s feet were covered in boots.

_…if y’ ain’t on board with a ‘Gallows Night’ with me…_

Boots. So that was okay. No glass cutting those feet.

_…really are an angel._

Rosita drew her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guided them both to the couch. Beth sat, entwined herself with her friend and together they waited to see ‘15th Company’ on the Feed.

_You’re a girl to come back for._

With cresting sorrow, she watched the words scroll by.

_…would if I could…_

Fifteenth Company.

 _I need_ you.

Platoon A,

_…girl…_

B,

_…Oh, girl…_

C;

_Thank you._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Heart in her throat, she rounded the corner with several others, men and women, one or two with children. The station’s docking bay was bustling with activity. Security personnel lined the hallways, keeping the way clear for personnel to do their work. Men and women in uniforms rushed back and forth, gathering up injured soldiers of the Gen-X Inc. and rushing them off to Medical.

 _I should be with them_ , she thought. Her fingers itched and gut lurched to think she wasn’t allowed in.

Hours ago, as she’d tried to come in for her shift, her boss had taken one look at her, cursed and sighed, “Not you, too,” and pulled her aside. It had taken only a moment but as gently as she could, she’d told Beth to go home, go to Counseling – they’d opened a section of level B to the public –  or a bar – anywhere as long as it wasn’t at work. When Beth argued, her boss had gently run a finger through the tears she hadn’t known were running down her cheeks. “I knew as soon as I saw your sale logs this morning. That soldier – you can’t do this right now. When your hands are steady come back in. If it gets real bad, I’ll send a wave. Go collect yourself.” She’d brooked no argument and it’d killed her inside, to feel so useless.

But she hadn’t been able to stay home. The same thing had been running for hours on the vid-screen and she couldn’t bring herself back to that dark apartment with nothing of interest but torturous images and meaningless words on loop in a small space that still smelled like him. Like _them_ –

 _placed an open-mouthed kiss above her heart, her heart pounding out of her ribcage and that odd aching, glowing sensation filling her from heart to belly and sending heat down like the slow trickle of molasses_ –

The ache in her chest clenched upon her heart and cunt, squeezing uninvited lust from her loins and tears from her eyes. She could still feel him inside, where he’d spilled and filled her with their pleasure. It was torment, the sensation so new she couldn’t help but be aware of it. It sent desire through her in small waves and as she savored them her heart wrenched. Here she was, burning when she might never see him again. She looked at the floor and hid her face in a hand, fishing with the other for the wall blindly. A trembling sob escaped her and she choked on it, trying to be as unobtrusive to those around her.

Here she was, one more woman amidst a veritable sea of people looking for lost loved ones. Husbands. Wives. Fathers and mothers. And she, looking for a man she’d barely known for twenty-four hours. _It isn’t healthy_ , she thought to herself. The words rattled hollow in her mind and circled the drain like a clattering piece of metal circling darkness.

Distantly a shout, call-and-response, broke through her musings. She looked up and saw a spectacled woman standing several feet from her, on her toes and shouting “Tara!” joyfully. A soldier was running toward the security line. The soldier elbowed her way through security, who allowed them space for tears and kisses before gently informing them they needed to stay behind the line so that Medical can do their work. As a Sergeant came and began yelling at his wayward soldier for breaking ranks she realized more tears were slipping down her cheeks.

Beth was broken over a near-stranger, standing amid others with years of potential loss behind them.

It wasn’t fair.

She shouldn’t be here.

With a last glance at the controlled chaos below, the men and women waiting with grim countenance, muffled sobs and comforting arms, she turned and left just as security began ushering the bystanders out of the docking bay.

 

The Counseling Room was a drab grey, the hollowed inside of a department store with racks of goods in tidy rows off to the left of the entrance, lined up neatly against the far wall. Immediately visible from the door were circles of couches and cushioned chairs, several table stands with pots of hot water and coffee, disposable thermal mugs and powdered cocoa she knew from experience would taste like chocolate-flavored-chalk.

There were cubicle arrangements for private counseling sessions further back, as well as consultants from Gen-X Incorporated for more practical purposes. She’d been standing in line to see one for a mere fifteen minutes, listening to the quieted sniffles and muffled sobs of the others who grieved nearby and wished she could bring herself to join them without feeling like the ancient cuckoo hatchling. A bird in the wrong nest.

“Next?” called a clinical voice. Beth looked up. A kind-eyed woman with a severe bun smiled mechanically and gestured for Beth to follow her within. The cubicle was standard taupe-walled cookie-cutter with a desk and three folding chairs. Upon the desk was a holo-screen. Beth took one of the near-sided chairs while her Gen-X Representative, Dawn, by the nametag, took the one on the opposing side.

“Name please?”

“I’m looking for Staff-Sergeant Dixon.”

The woman looked up sharply, pursed her lips and sighed softly. “State _your_ name, please.”

“I’m – sorry – Bethany Anne Greene.”

Dawn shifted her fingers over the holo-screen as she entered data. “Your relation to the asset?”

“The – I’m sorry?”

“The soldier you want located, what’s your relationship to – identifies as male?” Beth nodded. Fingers shifted again. “What’s your relation to him?”

Beth shifted uncomfortably. “I…we just, um –

“Are you divorced or married?”

“No.”

“Are you engaged to _be_ married?”

Her throat started to close and she twisted the edge of her shirt between her fingers to hold back more tears. It wasn’t Dawn’s business. Why did she even come here?

“No. I hadn’t even known him that long,” she admitted miserably. This woman’s scrutiny made her want to feel ashamed of herself. “We – we slept together,” the words felt like teeth pulled from her mouth, “before he left.”

Dawn gave her a look of shuttered sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can only be of assistance to family members and you just don’t qualify.” She began tracing her fingers through the screen again, paused and glanced sharply up at Beth as she stood. “Are you pregnant?”

She thought of the night before, of the little blue pill still on the counter and the dull ache still between her thighs. Throat closing, she turned from the invasive stranger and answered with choked voice, “No.”

 

 

Captain Grimes looked at her from over his desk. His grey uniform was slightly wrinkled in places she’d not have noticed if not for her father and he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in hours. Hell, he probably hadn’t. His beard was freshly shaved – she could smell the antiseptic scent of shaving cream wafting out of the bathroom door – and his hair was damp. The blue of his eyes were underlined with shadows and sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Miss Greene, but there’s nothing I can tell you.”

“But you could look, they’d tell you, right?”

“I can ask, Miss Greene but even if they did tell me, which they won’t, I couldn’t legally tell you anyway. They’re using my station, I’m happy to comply, I’m happy to aid the men and women on their payroll, make sure they have medical relief, whatever aid I can offer. But at the end of the day the whereabouts of their soldiers are not my business unless they’re breaching security.”

“Please, Captain Grimes?”

He sighed heavily. Poured himself a tiny cup of what was likely an expensive - real - espresso and offered it to her. She shook her head: the last thing she needed was caffeine poured over grief and anxiety. He tilted his head back and shot it. Sat the cup down. Sighed again and looked at her.

“When I know anything, I’ll come find you. But – don’t tell anyone. I’m only doing this because you’re Hershel’s daughter and I owe him. Anyone finds out I’m doing this it’ll be my neck on the line.”

Tears of relief – finally, a different kind of tears – sprang to her eyes and she rushed around the desk to hug him. “Thank you, Rick,” she whispered into his neck. Rick returned her hug briefly and patted her on the shoulder.

“I know it’s hard, Beth. Just because his platoon’s still out there doesn’t mean he is. They’re still trying to locate the personnel they don’t _know_ are already gone. Don’t get your hopes up.”

She heard him, let the moment sink in as she remembered being a young girl hugging Mr Grimes and his wife when they visited on holidays. She heard him and came back from it, letting herself feel the age between that young girl and the woman she was now. Letting herself feel the calm and even the beginnings of acceptance that her soldier might not make it back.

 

Rosita met her halfway to the bar and stopped her. “I’ve just been down to Counseling,” she said. They’re letting people know when they’ve locate soldiers. Family mostly, but they’re taking engagements too.” Beth furrowed her brow, puzzled.

“You’re engaged to –

“ _No_ , but they don’t know that.” Rosita sighed impatiently, “Look Beth, at least if Abraham is alive they’ll tell me. So there’s a mark on the bulletin for me, they’ll let me know when they find him. Either way.”

“Has the Feed said anything new?”

“So far, no. Nothing the news officials haven’t stated yet. Look, I bet if you went down there –

“I just came from there,” she snapped. Rosita’s eyes widened in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry, it's not you.”

“What happened?” Beth scuffed her boot against the metal flooring, miserable under the weight of the memory.

“I embarrassed myself, that’s what.” Rosita gave her another look. The kind that said ‘spill before I make you.’ “They won’t look him up for me. I’m not family.”

“Couldn’t even say he was your fiancée?”

“I wasn’t thinking. Not sure the lady would have believed me anyway.”

“Could you tell her you’re pregnant or something?”

Beth looked up at her and Rosita’s face froze, eyes wider. “Wait – Beth. _Are_ you?” Guilt thickened into a lump in her throat. “Shit, you might be?”

Beth’s head hung and bobbed. “Maybe,” she whispered.

“You didn’t _check_?”

She shook her head. “Tests aren’t accurate until seventy-two hours after.”

“Hell. Aren’t gonna _keep_ it are you?” Beth looked at her incredulously. “I mean, Beth you’ve got a good job and all, but your little apartment – you’re _managing_ honey but a _kid_ too?”

“I know, I _know_! I just –

She broke off, unable to continue as tears filled her eyes and she shrunk in on herself. Rosita pulled her under her arm and guided them out of the middle of the walkway to the wall where she hugged her tightly. A sob was stifled by a combination of hands and jacket-covered shoulder. A hand brushing up over her shoulder sent her mind reeling with sensual memory and it wasn’t fair, choking on grief and uncertainty, dark where answers were denied and the shiver of memory of his hand stroking delicate fingers down her spine as she lay spent draped over him. Rosita smelled of bar-shine solution and motor-oil and it wasn’t the same but the ghost of his scent – their scent – made the tears come harder.

“Oh, Jesus, honey…” She felt the wall beside them as she was pushed into it and her friend held her tighter, cradling her head in her shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay. Whatever you do, it’ll be okay.”

“What if he’s gone?” she whispered, “What if he’s gone and there’s nothing left? No family to miss him, no” _lover,_ she’d about said aloud but hesitated upon remembering she was the only one she knew of who applied and he didn’t seem the type to sleep around. He’d said, it had been a while. He’d said so much in so few words. “What if he’s gone and all that’s left of him is...

Again she couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Rosita gave her a tight squeeze and patted her back. “S’he know this might’ve happened?” Beth’s face fell, remembering that conversation.

“ _Don’ wanna leave you behind with a kid, darlin.’_ ” She nodded. “I told him, ‘You don’t have to worry about leaving more than me behind.’”

Rosita gave her a skeptical look, brows drawn together and pursing her lips. Her eyes grew pointed and she knew the next words she’d say and she was right. “You know it’d be easier if you just _did_ it, right? No drama. No kid holding you back. Grieve and heal, if he doesn’t come back. And if he does? You kept your word and see what happens.”

She nodded, the weight of possibilities suddenly heavy on her. Rosita was right, she knew she was. But…

The possibilities opened before her like chasms on either side of a knife’s edge and she stood upon it, mind screaming into the void, wondering which would hurt worse – knowing he was dead and she carried the last piece of him within her, whether he wanted her to or not...

Or knowing he was dead and gone and she had it easy, taking care of only herself, no worry for a child she was neither prepared for nor sought at this stage of her life, leaving his departed soul, the last thing she could do for him, the comfort of her warmth and the respect to honor his concern that he not leave her with a life-altering burden.

Neither thought was comforting. Neither thought eased the reality that she might never see him again. Neither seemed like a possibility she wanted to face, much less alone.

 _Maggie_ , she thought. Maggie would know what to do.

“I think I should go see Maggie.”

 

Maggie took one look at her and her face crumpled into a mirror of pain. “Oh, Bethy, no. Please, no,” Maggie opened her arms and stepped into her sister’s space to enfold her therein. “Tell me you didn’t.” Though she felt like she’d been weeping all day, the sob rose anew like a cresting wave at the invitation of her sister’s comfort and they shook her as she wept again. A hand cupped the back of her skull, stroked her hair and the other arm held her tighter.

After a time, her sister pulled her inside the apartment. It was larger than her own, economically fitted with hidden drawers and storage space nearly everywhere. She shared it with her husband but he was still on-duty, especially with the station on high-alert, given the state of things on Mars. The Feed was on in the apartment and before Maggie could shut it off with a casual command, Beth caught a few seconds of speculation that Mars might attack nearby stations. Their station.

“Screen: _off_ ,” said Maggie firmly.

Her elder sister was pretty in ways she wasn’t; tall, curvy and dark-haired she was often confused with an aunt when they went out. She strode around her open-apartment to the kitchen, gathering heating water, mugs and a luxury item she cherished: real tea-leaf tea from the plantation back home.

As the water heated the old-fashioned way on the thermal plate, Maggie sat down and looked at her with dry green eyes and matter-of-factly said, “Tell me what happened.”

She told her everything, starting with how they met, which was bittersweet and painful, leaving out her purchase of the morning-after pill and the visit to Capt. Grimes and ending with the embarrassing query for information Gen-X Inc. wasn’t willing to share.

Maggie listened silently, taking in Beth’s distress with hands firmly around her cup, eyes sympathetic and growing distant as her story came to a close. One of those very-warm hands closed around hers and she turned it over, accepting the comforting grip.

“I’m so sorry Bethy.”

There wasn’t much more to say after that, so she just sat there in the quiet of the apartment which never quite but almost smelled like home sometimes and drank tea until the burning heat in her stomach matched that in her chest.

“Y’know Bethy, if you decide to keep it, Glen and I’ll support you.” She looked up from the dark inside the cup to see her sister watching. “I know Daddy’ll be a little disappointed, but it's not like you’re some teenage girl anymore –

“No matter how much he’d want otherwise,” she said in soft bitter tones.

‘”Bethy!” Maggie’s tone was aghast. She sighed heavily, looking doubtfully at her siter.

“You don’t tell him, will you?”

“About the baby? Why n –

“Because I’m not sure I am,” the word ‘yet’ sat heavily unused upon her tongue, “and it takes a few days and even then Maggie there still isn’t any certainty I’ll carry to term.” She knew even as she said it that while it was true and since the technology to detect conception within days had only blurred the lines of viability, abortion and the various associated issues, she knew, knew in her bones, that they’d both been  - the past-tense pricked fresh tears from her bleeding heart – healthy adults and that if the fetus was allowed to implant in her uterus there would be no doubt she’d carry to term.

His voice replayed in her head, an echo which seemed unfair.

  _Don’ wanna_ _leave you behind with a kid darlin.’_

_Ain’t no guarantee I’ll be back._

Her own words chased his, flitted around her head in circles and she watched Maggie’s eyes a they watched hers.

_You don’t have to worry._

“What’re you thinking Bethy?”

She pulled her hand away, standing. “I’m sorry, Mags I – I have to go.”

“Wait! Bethy, honey, don’t go.” She came around the table and held her in a fierce hug. “It’ll be okay,” she stroked a hand down Beth’s hair and she stiffened.

 _The only touch I want is_ –

She pulled away, holding her sister’s wrists in gentle but firm hands. “I know, you’re here for me.”

“And the baby.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ Maggie, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet!” She choked on air, desperate.

 _I promised him_.

“I’ve gotta go,” she said again and this time Maggie didn’t keep her from leaving.

She should have known how Maggie would’ve felt about it. She wouldn’t understand.

A baby was a baby no matter what, even if it was only one of many possibilities. He didn’t want it. If he’s dead then it doesn’t matter what he wants, does it? It hadn’t even been a full 48 hours. Detection tests needed at least 72 hours for accuracy. If she could take the pill she’d left in the bathroom it wouldn’t matter anymore. She’s not pregnant until it takes root in her uterus, right? It’s _not_ an abortion-pill. It’s to _prevent_ conception. And even then, so early, women have miscarriages and never knew they were pregnant in the first place...

She roughly shoved the thought away, heartsick and wishing like hell that Daryl were here.

But he’s not and that’s half the problem.

A quiet chime rings out and she looks down at her wrist. On the comm-watch she sees a message:

COME TO MY OFFICE

Checking the I.D. she’s relieved to see that it’s Captain Grimes: if it were work she’d be tempted to beg off for emotional instability. Angrily shoving away the ugly thoughts she’d been having – she’d always told herself it would be better to have a child when she were _ready_ , when she had a _partner_ , when she had her career at least _underway_ instead of _just starting out_ with a more-than-likely-dead soldier working an _entry-level position_ which made the bills and little more.

The tears burned behind her lids as she made the detour to Captain Grimes’ office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I had no summary which I felt could do justice to simply reading the chapter. I'm also sorry it took me so long to get this chapter - any chapter of any work - up. I've been struggling with having failed my Board exam and subsequent depression, studying for the next attempt, finding a job in the meantime (which as of three hours ago has been remedied, I will be starting next week yay!)...yeah when I get depressed I don't write as much or as well. Though I also started some other projects which will be posted after I wrap up this and at least one other fic. 
> 
> You may have noticed the projected chapters of this fic has lengthened: I discovered, to my frustration, that I couldn't and shouldn't try to fit everything I wanted to into this second chapter to end this fic in a third, so its been expanded to the likely five chapters it's going to take to properly tell this story.
> 
> Much thanks to Abelina for beta-ing this for me (please note any mistakes are mine, I didn't ask her to go over this after my last edits).
> 
> Yes, I'm suddenly touching on contraception, abortion and pro-choice/life issues. Yes, it takes more than 72 hours to find out if you are pregnant. Welcome to Science Fiction. 
> 
> Comments are welcome. Preaching at me about one stand or the other will not be appreciated. Frankly I'm kindof nervous posting the above and even this part of the story, but its a part of the story and I know where this is going and how it will end. I hope you stick around and enjoy the journey.
> 
> Also, Merry Bleated Holidays.


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